“Ah, that’s it,” she whispered hurriedly. “That is why I didn’t want to see you. I knew you would want to know that. And now—I cannot tell you!”
“Why not?”
“Yesterday,” went on Nell, her voice getting lower, “I was going to ask your advice; for it was only a case of theft. To-day I dare not, for it is now a question of—murder!”
“You know something, Nell!”
“I don’t. I wish I did. But—I suspect. And I dare not whisper my suspicion even to you, until I have felt my way to a little more knowledge. Now will you be content with that, and not want to make me speak when I would rather be silent?”
Clifford hesitated.
“Wouldn’t you trust me to be silent too?”
Nell began to look perplexed and miserable, drawn this way and that by conflicting feelings of love and duty. Clifford saw how keen the struggle was, and like a generous fellow, cut it short for her.
“All right, Nell, you shall keep your secret. Only mind this: I must be the first to know it. Will you promise me that?”
“Yes, oh, yes, and I thank you with all my heart.”